


Persecuted for Righteousness

by The Tinglenator (Misha_McCarthy)



Series: Supernatural One-Shots [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan is Not Forgotten, Adam Milligan is Saved, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Annoying Lucifer (Supernatural), Canon Rewrite, Chuck Shurley Being an Asshole, Cute Jack Kline, Dead Adam Milligan, Dead Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Thinks Castiel is Dead, Depressed Dean Winchester, Drinking, Drunk Dean Winchester, Episode Related, Fix-It, Flash Fic, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hopeless Dean Winchester, Hopeless Sam Winchester, Hurt Jack Kline, Insecure Michael, Just Add Kittens, Little Shit Lucifer (Supernatural), Michael & Dean Winchester Friendship, One Shot, Protective Michael, Rewrite, Worried Dean Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester, spn 15x19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_McCarthy/pseuds/The%20Tinglenator
Summary: Sam and Jack drove through countless empty streets, past a million deserted stores. Everyone on Earth had disappeared, and Sam had been trying to call Dean for hours now, with no reply.Basically, I rewrote 15x19. ;)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Michael & Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural One-Shots [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877215
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Persecuted for Righteousness

There was no wind.

There were no birds.

Nothing impeded the drive back. He didn’t know if there’d be anything at the bunker, anyways. Sam had never known Dean to refuse his calls- not if he was alive, not at a time like this. The only person Sam was certain that still stood was Jack. The nephilim kept silent, thinking, with his brows furrowed in a way that was comforting after seeing him soulless for so long. There must have been a reason that he and Jack were here, after everyone- all universes, all countries, _everyone_ \- had been wiped from existence. Chuck wouldn’t keep the two of them without sparing Dean and Cas. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t the ending he’d been waiting for.

“Sam,” Jack said, sounding insistent.

“Yeah?” It must have been the third or fourth time his name had been called. Jack was watching him and the phone in his lap with knowing, hurting eyes. The phone had turned off a few minutes ago. An hour had passed since he started calling, and his battery was coming close to the brink of death, not unlike everything else on this stupid planet. Clearly, Dean wasn’t picking up any time soon.

“I should fly over there.”

It sounded like Jack was asking permission to leave him for a while, which didn’t exactly make any sense- he trusted Jack. Permission would never be necessary, on anything. “Of course. Yeah. Uh- be careful about it?” He didn’t know why Jack hadn’t done this earlier. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t _thought_ of it earlier. Suddenly he snapped out of autopilot, and had to check that he was driving in the right direction.

Dammit. They should have given up. They should have given Chuck everything he wanted.

Jack sighed at the prospect of safety and with a little flap of his wings, he’d disappeared. The Impala was just as silent as ever. Sam became aware again of the fact that there was no wind, there were no birds; there was nothing but him, now. And he realized why Jack had hesitated to leave.

* * *

The bunker was quiet. At first, not even Jack was able to make any sounds out beyond the distant hum from the back rooms. He flew around a hurry from one room to the next, trying to detect any inconsistencies. It all looked untouched, in a weird, absolute way. Only a choked sob caught his attention. The dungeon was fairly dark. The light didn’t reach into the corners very well, past the devil’s trap painted on the floor long ago. Things were still undisturbed in this room, save for the door, which Jack now noticed had a hole instead of a lock. A few drops of blood littered the ground… and then, along a dim wall, was a figure curled into a ball. The phone beside him was lit up to display that he had dozens of missed calls, and eventually the screen turned off. The figure gave it no attention. Dean wasn’t giving anything attention, in fact. He just let out another few sobs, this time less restrained, and tightened in upon himself further. His hair had been pulled into every imaginable angle. His clothes were matted with sweat. There was blood on his shoulder… but Jack couldn’t comprehend anything hurting Dean enough to reduce him to this. Dean had gone through Hell’s torture, and the picture Sam had painted of his confession didn’t resemble this… this husk.

“Dean?” he asked, unable to anticipate any sort of reaction. It didn’t even feel right to say Dean’s name; there was no way the word in any way referred to the scene in front of him.

The Winchester looked up, his pink face just a layer of sweat and tears, curved into a form that spelled “trauma” for any human- though Dean wasn’t just _any human_. It took a few seconds for the tears to be wiped away and Dean to recognize him. “Jack.”

 _What about Billie? What happened to Cas? What happened to YOU?_ “Sam’s been trying to call.”

He watched Dean’s lips tremble, and when he was caught looking confused at the action, Dean ducked his head between his arms again, and muttered, “I know.”

And that was it.

No explanation, no plan to go kill God, no joke.

…

He came closer and dropped down to one knee. It seemed as though his close proximity had only made Dean unconsciously curl inwards more, but Jack took his cues from Netflix romances and decided that if Dean was already like this, it was probably worth the risk to press him; something Jack always avoided doing. “Did you kill Billy?”

Dean’s answer was a strained, harsh laugh. “Yeah. Yeah… I guess we did.” Then, finally, he drew his head from out of his arms and wiped his chin, though this accomplished nothing. More tears were still trickling their way along his cheeks. His shirt and sleeves were drenched. “Another one of my stupid plans, huh? We- we’re supposed to be killing _God_ . And I had to go and chase some wanna-be Death.” He chanced a glance at Jack, who made no move to ask anything. There were way too many things to ask. “She was _dying_ . She would have died if we just _left her the hell alone_! And- and…”

Dean grimaced and tugged at his hair again. “He listened to me. That stupid, goddamn idiot went with me. I should have died alone.”

“Cas?” Jack asked on instinct. He immediately regretted it from the way Dean apologized, without saying a word. They just looked at each other for a while. Neither of them entirely understood the emotions that still ripped away at Dean’s chest; Jack fought the urge to find the Impala again, to get away from those haunting eyes that were rimmed in red. He was sure he’d never forget them, if he lived much longer to remember anything in the first place. And Dean was just the same- unable to run from the way his soul feeling empty and without end, unable to hide from Cas’ last few words.

“Your powers…” Dean suggested. It sounded more like a pitiful whine.

Jack could only shake his head as his own vision began to blur. “I’m sorry.”

A sad smile tried to form on the Winchester’s lips, but not even that would come. Instead, Jack soon found himself embraced so tightly that if he was entirely human, he was sure a rib would have been broken in an instant. “No.” Dean was doing his best to keep his throat clear enough to talk. “No. _I’m_ sorry. It’s my fault.”

His grip on Dean lessened, but he was still stuck in place just as tightly as before. He said something without considering its effects, only hoping to comfort Dean. “It wasn’t your fault. Cas would have needed to choose to go, and that isn’t on you.”

The hug was over just as fast as it’d started. “You… knew?” Fresh pain rose onto his face, and Jack wished he had it in him to throw Dean off and fly somewhere else, far away from what he'd done. “You knew. Of course you knew.” Another warped laugh. “You were there for it, and Cas asked you not to mention it.”

Dean finally dropped his hands from Jack’s side while shaking his head, eyes closed and lips trembling. His appearance hit just as hard as the first time. “I should get back to Sam,” Jack said, aware that it was only an excuse to get away from such strong eyes that bore right past him- looking elsewhere for someone who had already sacrificed himself, and was gone.

OOO

Jack spent the ride back explaining that Cas’ death hadn’t been another kamikaze plan Dean stayed silent on. Sam was upset, but he seemed to understand it in a way that Dean couldn’t, or maybe was just refusing to do. Something in the younger brother’s eyes had clicked as soon as he mentioned “sacrifice for Dean”. He didn’t mention the other Winchester’s current condition. Jack could read between the lines, and that was all he needed for the basic story.

When they arrived, there were bottles… Bottles upon bottles on the library table. It was mostly beer- but whatever else there’d been in reserves, he had no doubt they were on this table, among so many other brands that it was impossible to try estimating their numbers. A few were already empty beside where Dean sat, leaned forward over the table like he expected to throw up on top of God’s death book. He was still a mess, though he’d cleaned his face up a bit, and seemed more impassive than both Jack and Sam thought was possible for a non-angel entity. Sam was frozen at the end of the table.

“Lemme guess. They’re all gone.” Dean took another swig before anyone answered. “It wasn’t Billie- it was nev’r her. Jus’ Chuck.”

Sam walked over slowly. He assessed the mass of drinks as he went by, which only grew more impressive with each glance. Then he stood there at the other end for a while. Dean barely recognized his presence; he only continued to drink as his brother used every fibre of muscle to tear open the book. It remained resolutely closed. “Great,” Sam muttered. “Okay, so, ev- everyone dies, the Empty swallows Death, and we just- we drink?”

Jack began walking over. “This isn’t the ending Chuck wants, is it?”

“No.” Dean’s voice sounded slurred by this time. “But we’re gonna give it to ‘im. We’re gonna give him what he wants- give him whatev’r. It’s done.”

Sam looked down at the state of his brother with disfavour. He tore the beer from Dean’s hand using a force that implied he thought he’d be resisted, but there was none. Jack was able to tell just by glancing between the two of them, though, that there was no longer resistance on either side.

So they left the bunker. Probably didn’t go far- but they wouldn’t take Jack with them, so he wouldn’t get to find out. It was between them, they’d said. God loved the stories of brotherly betrayal. They’d do what they had to for the world to be restored, but something in them didn’t want to see Jack die as well before they fought, and he humoured them. He didn’t like dying very much. If stuff went to plan…

… But it didn’t, of course. Jack knew as soon as the bunker door opened, not an hour later.

God didn’t care anymore. He wanted them to suffer an eternity alone, and he had an eternity left to watch.

* * *

For the first few days, they tried to pretend like everything was still pretty normal. Dean convinced himself that Cas was out helping Heaven, other hunters didn’t have service where they were doing cases, the TV was broken for now, and there was no one at the store because it was the dead of night. Surprisingly enough, most big platforms on the internet were still working. Jack could hear Sam listening to recipe videos between the times that they sat down to try researching something- literally anything. He assumed it was always videos and not articles because at least when you saw another person moving on screen, you could think for a second that they were still out there.

Most of that food got thrown out. Nobody had an appetite.

Dean learned about most of these going-ons at the bunker when they left, only a week into their “eternal solitude”. It was the first time he’d been sober enough to remember anything, and even then, Sam had politely but firmly suggested he take the wheel this time. They drove for almost two days towards some kind of “presence” that Jack had felt. Their one major stop was the biggest hotel they’d found along the way, but the grandeur felt cheap. They’d passed countless empty playgrounds and deserted streets. It wasn’t even as bad as the movies. It was worse, because the trio knew for a fact that it was only them, God, and the mystery presence. No love interests or children to adopt. No space salvage team, no desert truckers, no secret bunker societies. Everyone was gone. Perhaps not painfully, but all the same stripped of their chance at a life. And here they were, trying to forget about it in a big, fancy hotel. Jack seemed to be taking it harder than the brothers. For one, he wasn’t inclined to drink himself to death, and for another, Jack didn’t have it in him to lie- not even to himself.

They turned on a gas station generator and kept driving. It wasn’t just failing the people they’d gotten to know on a case. It was them, and everyone in between. Cute kids. Hamsters. Even convicts who deserved a second chance at getting themselves back into order. The magnitude of this was impossible to comprehend. Yet, it was more impossible to try escaping from.

The location of the presence was, apparently, just another gas station in the middle of nowhere. They must have circled it three times before the nephilim pointed and yelled, “There!” It was enough to give them a heart attack with how normal complete silence was becoming. Dean, who hadn’t drank quite as much today- probably because of the looks he’d been getting from Sam and Jack- still needed to use the bathroom. A black flash darted out in front him just as he reached the door and wove itself into some boxes against the outside wall. When he got closer, it was the smallest cat he could ever recall seeing. It looked hungry, and shied away from his hand as he scooped up, which was a terrible idea because he knew in less than five minutes he would be a sneezing mess. Dean wasn’t a big fan of cats. The allergy, coupled with their pissy attitudes, really didn’t make for an ideal pet to love and adore for ten years. But this thing was so small, and it was the only thing on Earth he could really save. Dean Winchester was going to save a goddamn kitten.

It snuggled into his shirt instantly.

_“It’s cold,” Cas had said that random time when he appeared in their motel room, holding a kitten._

_“Well you can’t_ keep _it, Cas!” he’d argued, more nastily than he meant for. He was pretty preoccupied with trying to stay away from the cat. “This is what we created animal shelters for.”_

_The glimmer in Cas’ eye began to fade._

_“He’s allergic,” Sam pointed out, and then went straight back to leaning over his laptop._

_“Oh.”_

_Dean sighed, watching the hope drain from Cas’ face like he’d just been told the cat was a serial murderer. It was a cute idea to help the cat, and he wished he could humour the angel, but it just wasn’t going to work. “There’s no way we can take care of him with the way we bounce around, Cas, I’m sorry. He’ll be happier at a shelter. They find animals homes with couples, or families- y’know.”_

_Cas frowned. “And we’re not…?” He pulled away from Dean’s gaze. “I’ll do as you suggest, then.”_

_He wasn’t given the chance to reply before Cas was off flying somewhere._

The kitten finished nestling itself into the crook of his arm. He felt, more than heard, vibrations running through the entirety of the little body as it purred. He was praying- er, hoping- he didn’t sneeze right now and startle it.

“Dean?” Sam called. His brother had bags filled with health foods, chips, and a distinct lack of beer. He turned slowly to face where Sam was coming out of the front of the store, and grinned at the bundle he had in his own arms with slow movements, afraid to upset this tiny miracle. “Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. You think Mircale’s a good name for her?”

Sam’s eyebrows jumped. “I- I guess? I never thought I’d see you _holding_ a cat, so uh, yeah. It fits.”

Dean rubbed its ears with his free hand, and despite the ways his eyes were getting irritated, he admitted he liked how its tiny form leaned against his fingers, soaking up the attention. His lips parted to ask whether or not the milk would still be good in the store when, in a split second, his arm grew cold. When the dust evaporated, there was no longer a little fuzzball in his arms. It was just… gone.

He turned around with his arms still raised, as if expecting it to just reappear. And behind them in the field stood Chuck. There was a grin, and then the grasses stood empty, and it was just the three of them left on Earth again. They were being played like fiddles.

OOO

That night, it was another hotel with a good old “h”. Dean had been mistaken in thinking that if he crashed on the bed sober, he’d been able to sleep without seeing Cas again. Tonight it got worse. Knocking echoed throughout every room of the bunker. Cas was at the front door, asking to be let in. He would become more and more desperate for someone to hear him, getting louder, pounding faster, screaming that he wasn’t supposed to have come back and Chuck was going to find him. _Dean! Dean!_ But no one opened the door, and no matter how hard Dean tried, he couldn’t get himself up the stairs. _DEAN!_ He listened to the door reverberating on its hinges as Cas used everything in his power to be heard. _DEAN, PLEASE!_ Then, at the end… it would stop abruptly. And Dean would be trapped alone in a silent bunker.

OOO

There was another presence. If Chuck was getting bored- well, he’d take that as a good sign, even if Sam and Jack became nervous. They were only told about half an hour before entering the church that his presence was strong- and when Jack said strong, he meant _strong_.

Books were scattered along benches. One phone had smashed open onto the hard wooden floors. He tried to ignore the remains of so many people’s lives; the little trinkets that meant nothing to him, but might have felt like the world to a person who’d been unjustly killed. He was sick of seeing this. Chuck was leading them in circles even now, and he really couldn’t care anymore. The world was gone. Cas was gone. These presences were their last hope, and the only other one had been just another of Chuck’s toys, designed to hurt them.

“So… You three survived, as well.” They all turned to face the eerily calm voice, though Dean and Sam recognized it without seeing the vessel he wore. “The Winchester brothers, and… Jack, correct?”

“Michael,” Dean announced, as a cold way of introducing him to the confused nephilim. Dean knew the archangel would have known Jack from the flashbacks Cas showed him, but Jack would only know his uncle through stories- mostly from Cas and the Bible, since the brothers didn’t have much to say about him… Besides the fact that a previously major asshole had befriended their half-brother.

“Is Adam still there?” Sam asked, as if on cue.

“No. He was removed from this world, the same as every other being, it seems.” Michael’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, which changed practically nothing about his normal, stern complexion. “Apart from you. Of everything, he spared you.”

“And you,” Dean pointed out, undaunted by the archangel’s anger. His mind had already developed a mantra: this wasn’t the Michael that possessed him. He had never been inside Dean’s mind, and he didn’t know anything about him, Sam, or Jack- not really.

Michael nodded. “Yes. As soon as the Rapture began, we sought refuge here. A holy house dedicated to myself… and God. I was surprised at how consistent the messages of God had remained since I first ordered angels to spread them. Despite language shifts and lost pages…” The archangel glanced between the three of them. “Humans are… surprising, in pleasant ways. I had forgotten it in my pursuit of Paradise. I only wish the messages I had spread of God were true.”

“Daddy’s favourite son, huh?” he chided.

Michael broke eye contact with them, and Sam spoke up. “We’ve been praying to you for weeks. You didn’t answer- at all.”

They watched Michael shift on his feet. “I won’t explain my absence. But it does warrant an apology. I wanted as very little to do with this as possible, and now… well, there’s no place left to go. Surely, if you’ve been seeking ways to right these injustices, there must be some way I can help.”

The trio traded uneasy glances. An apology from any kind of angel, even in a roundabout way, was headline material. The look he gave Sam promised that they’d be talking about this in the bunker- alone.

OOO

“Okay, so, he can’t open God’s book,” Dean whispered, though they were separated from Michael and Jack by a series of rooms and concrete walls. They didn’t want to run the risk of that “cosmic being” eavesdropping crap. “And even if he could…”

“Who knows what side he’s on.” Sam finished.

He ran a slow hand down his face, past new stubble and sweat. “Yeah.”

The bunker was very quiet. Jack had “volunteered” to keep Michael busy in conversation while they figured something else out, and it didn’t sound like any sort of fight had broken out yet, which was probably the best they were able to hope for. They had so many puzzle pieces now, and none of them seemed to fit together quite right. Without any remaining angels or demons besides the two in the library, they didn’t know how else to read the book. The brothers sat there, noiselessly, in a bunker without sound, and a world without people.

And then there was knocking on the bunker door.

 _Exactly_ like Dean had been dreaming about ever since they hit the road a few days ago. He was up in a flash and left Sam woefully behind in his pursuit of the door. Michael and Jack stood in the library to watch the Winchester taking two stairs at a time. The knocks were so familiar, echoing back through his many terrible nightmares of never opening the door. There was only a single moment of hesitation before the door was flung open- and revealed not a wounded Cas, weary from surviving a second trip to the Empty and relieved to be let in again- instead, it was the familiar, terrible face of the angel he’d killed two years ago. Dean caught the looks of a mischievous smile before slamming the door hard enough to rock his own shoulder. But it was already too late- Lucifer made himself at home on top of their map table, surrounded by the angry gazes of Earth’s four other survivors.

“Hey! Would you look at that. The gang’s all here,” the Devil tossed his arms around like this was a family reunion or something. “Er, well… Not quite.” He winked at Dean as he made his way down the stairs. “Gotta love how easy deaths make it for people to let me in.”

“You son of a bitch,” the older Winchester growled. 

“Dean, what-?”

Lucifer didn’t let Sam finish. “Look, I wish I could’ve brought Castiel back for the whole ‘power of friendship’ yada yada, but y’know, the Empty wasn’t in a very good mood at the time. Kudos for pissing it off that much, and I mean… _Wow_ ,” he laughed. “It plunked me back here to get a special God book and a few other things I didn’t understand- but, hey, I figured she’d be helpful.” With a snap of his fingers, a young woman appeared, gagged and bound by chains. She seemed a bit more angry than anything else.

“Lucifer,” Michael cut in, his voice acting as a dangerous warning.

The Devil responded by throwing back his shoulders and groaning like a child. “Mikeeeey, I’m not done my monologue yet. I even prepared a little something. Look.” The glint of an angel blade materialized in his hand, and he tossed it around with arrogant ease. His other hand gripped the back of the woman’s neck. “Team, meet the reaper Betty. Boring name, but a _fiery_ attitude. She’s probably a dog person.” Lucifer shamelessly looked her up and down, then stuck a blade right between her breasts and held her upright as she convulsed and screamed from behind the gag. The life hadn’t even drained from her eyes before the Devil was back to glancing between the four of them, obviously enjoying their shock. “It’s obvious, right? To kill Dad we need the book, to open the book we need Death, and since this lucky gal’s the first to go kaput after Billie…” Lucifer shook the deceased reaper by her neck. When she didn’t respond, he shook her harder. Underwhelming was more than accurate.

Dean took the opportunity to glance at Michael. They needed to get an archangel blade into his hands- he was sure Michael would be able to kill Lucifer, especially given the fact that he was still in a half-perfect vessel. But they still had to give him the blade, and he didn’t like the fact that- as someone who was used to reading emotions off of near-expressionless beings- he was unable to gleam anything from Michael. The archangel had been an open book of shame not very long ago at the church.

Lucifer was still shaking the dead reaper. It reminded Sam of some kid’s talent show not going very well. The Devil became bored by the time Betty gasped her way back to life. “Chop chop, woman. Death doesn’t need to breathe.” He rolled his eyes. “Where’s the book, gentlemen? Let’s get her reading this thing.”

Sam took a step back towards where they’d stashed the book just as Betty tugged off her chains and brought a scythe into existence. Jack kept quiet. Unable to bridle his distaste, Michael was the one that came closer to approaching Lucifer. “You cannot seriously consider trusting him.”

“What other choice do we have?” Dean challenged.

Betty grasped her scythe in both hands. Her demeanour was suddenly graceful as she brought on the room’s attention. “I don’t care whether you trust him; Lucifer isn’t the one who’ll be able to read the book. It’s my property now, and I can’t tell you how to end God if I haven’t read how he dies.”

They didn’t have anything to lose by handing over the book. Without her to read it, there was no way to kill God, and that thing would be useless. So if she bailed, nothing changed. If she read it properly… they might be able to bring everyone back.

Betty followed them into the library and took the book with a strong look of respect. All eyes locked onto her as she grasped the binding. Lucifer got a strong reprimanding while trying to sneak a peak over her shoulder. It didn’t take her long to retire into a back bedroom, leaving a fanboy Lucifer in the library to hold her scythe while she digested the information. It was… uncomfortable, waiting in that room. Michael refused to peel his eyes from Lucifer or give any sort of reply the Devil was hoping to evoke while lobbying little insults across the table. Things about the Cage, and how painful it must have been to think you were on the good guys’ side, only to rot somewhere, abandoned. “I guess Dad was happy leaving his favourite son in there.”

Michael was stock-still. “I don’t care for that title anymore. You’ve always overestimated how important that was to me. When Father returned, he was supposed to create Paradise, and he would love all his children equally. What I did…” He continued to look his brother straight in the eyes, not flinching once. “I did because it was the right thing.”

“Mmm,” Lucifer held up a finger, “but you never _actually_ cared about the humans. Or other angels, really. Dad gave you an order- and you followed it, no matter what. The boring old weapon Dad always wanted.”

Sam looked like he was about to step in and settle everyone down, before they had two giant powerhouses hurtling atomic bombs at each other. The new Death beat him to the punch- and just in time, by Dean’s judging, because Michael’s fists were noticeably more clenched.

Betty stood at the opposite end of the table. Lucifer stopped playing with her scythe, and Jack stopped shifting around uncomfortably once the argument died down. Once she had everyone’s attention, Betty opened the book and flipped through some pages, acting way too self-composed for the end of the world and conspiring to kill God. “Okay, so. A lot of this book is a bunch of nonsense.” She settled on a particular page and ran a finger down the print. “But right here-”

And just like that, Betty’s mouth froze- still partly open- as she dissolved into ash. The scythe that had gotten embedded in her abdomen withered away in less than a few seconds, too, leaving only the book on the floor and Lucifer standing overtop of it. The Devil held their only chance of freedom up to his chest. “Well, I guess there’s no time to waste in getting this thing to Dad. Oops, did I say Dad? Yeah. Normally I’d tell him to stick it up his Almighty ass, but you know, I’d rather give him a book than deal with those eternal years of torture he promised. Don’t doubt him for one second on delivering. Shame, though. I was expecting…” he sighed. “Opposition? Some heated words? Seems like Dad’s pretty much beaten you guys down already.” Lucifer held up a hand and smirked. “Have fun.” His snap echoed throughout the bunker.

But everyone was still exactly where they’d been a moment ago. Lucifer’s cheer evaporated with one glance at Michael, whose eyes had just finished glowing. “God’s not going to deliver you from us.” He held out a hand. “Give me the book now, Lucifer, and all can be forgotten.”

Lucifer titled his head, smiling again, but without amusement. “Yeah, no.” He made a break for the main room. Jack flew into his path, only for a hideous chuckle to escape the Devil’s lips as he was flung sideways, through multiple bookshelves and into the wall. It probably hurt Jack more to know that his father no longer had any second thoughts about his well-being, but all the same, he was considered out for the count as Lucifer made an honest attempt at running for the door. As an archangel, he should have known it was worthless while Michael’s flight was unrestricted.

“I’m sorry, brother.” Michael watched the angelic light burst from his brother’s eyes, unable to look away from the lengthy death. When Lucifer finally collapsed backwards, the archangel blade was still lodged in his chest, and the book remained open, face down. He picked a path around the Devil’s body and began heading towards the bedrooms, with Jack picking himself out of the rumble and joining Sam and Dean, who stayed just as quiet. “I’ll let you three decide our next course of action.” No one stopped Michael as he disappeared behind a corner, his gait slow and dejected.

At some point, it was considered safe to grab the book, and they gathered at the library table to flip it around. The pages were blank- every single one.

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Shit.”

OOO

He wasn’t sure why _he_ had to do it. It wasn’t like he was any much closer to Michael than Jack or Sam. But Sam was the witch of the family now, and Jack didn’t exactly have a good history with blood relatives. Dean had conceded that there wasn’t anything better for him to be doing, anyways. So he was left wandering down the bedroom halls, hoping he’d be able to figure out where Michael’s loyalties lay without pissing him off too much.

The archangel was in _his_ room. Go figure.

Michael glanced his way. He’d been leaning over the nightstand, and a few childhood pictures were exposed on the antique wood, from when Dean had been reminiscing on them. That was probably while he was drunk, because he had no memory of leaving them out like that. Something sputtered out inside of him when he realized Michael had been examining the pictures.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking a step forward to scoop up the photos before realizing he probably didn’t want to get any closer to an aggravated archangel. “What do you angels not understand about privacy?”

“Privacy often arises from shame,” Michael answered- if you can call that an answer. He continued to talk over the scoff Dean gave. “And that is something I believe many angels lack, for better or worse. But there’s nothing to be ashamed of in these pictures.” He turned around holding one that depicted the brothers in their teenage years. Dean had an arm slung around Sam, who was still shorter at the time and was _very_ unimpressed. He could remember the way his girlfriend laughed after taking the surprise shot. “You and Sam are good men, with a strong relationship. That’s something to be proud of.”

Dean snatched the picture from Michael’s hands. “I thought you avoided us because you were still pissed.”

“I was. But now I prefer to think of our- _my_ abandonment as just another thing my Father twisted for his own entertainment. I know Him the best, and I might have seen something even Lucifer was blind to.”

“You think you would’ve acted on it?”

Michael frowned silently, assessing himself. “I’m not sure. Adam was the first human I had connected with in a very long time, and he taught me early on that God wouldn’t expect me, or anyone else, to serve him simply as a weapon. It enlightened me to the mistakes I made. Mistakes which led to my residence in the Cage. Though, I still had my faith in God. There didn’t appear to be anything else to give faith to.”

“And you’re… good with helping us kill him?” Dean still played with the photo between his fingers.

“He doesn’t have my faith anymore. Not after this.” His smile seemed almost kindhearted at Dean’s look of confusion, but he had a hard time believing it to be genuine. “It lies with humanity. After my and Adam’s release, I now refuse to be subservient to anyone. But as I said before, I will offer you my help. Did you gleam what was necessary from the book?”

The Winchester bit his lip. “Uh- yeah. We should get back to the library, actually.”

Michael dropped his gaze. “You forget I can detect lies.”

Silence drifted back in.

While Dean busied himself with a mental ass-beating, the archangel laid a hand on his shoulder and flew them both into the library, where Sam jumped while sorting out the last of the supplies. “Tell me what you will,” Michael said. His tone was composed as he pulled his hand away, but Dean caught his quick, sorrowful glance.

* * *

Dean organized the spell’s components among the beach’s pebbles while Sam recited the quick incantation in his head. The archangel and nephilim stood guard, hoping alongside the brothers that they’d be able to complete this one task before God realized anything was amiss. A few Latin words fused the ingredients and the bowls cast off a blue light, before shooting off into the sky and fizzling out only a few stories above their heads.

“Was it supposed to do that?” Jack asked.

The crunch of rock from a few yards away turned everyone’s faces towards Chuck, who stood wearing a dumb suit and an even stupider smile. “Nobody _actually_ expected that to work, right? I mean, you all do realize I’ve got nothing better to do than watch you run around with your heads cut off?”

“Yeah, well, don’t count your chickens ’till they hatch,” Dean threw back with a meaningless smirk.

Jack brought up his palm to face Chuck, but with the flick of a hand, the nephilim fragmented into a million small fractions of light, each one dispersing into the air with a half-hearted puff, as if they were little ashes. And just like that, what must have been the most powerful being to exist- beyond Chuck and Amara- had flickered out of existence.

Chuck began approaching the brothers. Michael, who’d been at their side to allow them to perform the spell, now walked in front of the brothers to block his Father’s path.

“Michael, Michael, Michael. You know, you disappoint me. Out of all Creation, you’re among the four people I spared, and you can’t even help me out a little.”

“You spared _five_ beings, and murdered billions. To stand behind you would be to support the largest injustice imaginable.” By the way Michael shifted his stance, the brothers knew he’d steeled his resolve, though the archangel didn’t summon any energy to fight with. They all knew it would have been a useless maneuver; just as trying to run off would be.

Chuck just shrugged as Michael's eyes lit up in a powerful display of white light. Then, inevitably, he approached the boys. They instinctively backed away, which only brought more of a smile to his face. “You guys really never give up, do you?”

Sam grinned back. “Never.”

“Just like we promised,” Dean added.

Chuck nodded. “Even with no one left to save, and nothing left to hunt.” With the simple flick of his fingers, the brothers flew up multiple feet and hit the ground, hard. He ripped open Sam’s organs, and pounded Dean’s head into the rocks hard enough for him to spit out teeth and lose sight in one eye. He melted Sam’s foot. Crushed the bones in Dean’s right hand, bit by bit. Sent the younger brother into seizures. Tore the older one’s skin from his scalp. He healed them and destroyed them, over and over, so that they saw nothing but red and heard nothing but the screams of pain that went back and forth between them. But they didn’t ask him to stop. They didn’t flop over and give in when Chuck ordered them to. With every blow dealt, Chuck became more desperate; with every blow, the brothers smiled despite their mouths being too swollen or shredded and ripped up to react, because they knew they’d won. Everything, in every world, was supposed to lead up to them losing hope- in each other, in Jack, in the remnants of a broken world. And anything that resembled a human would have said there was no hope, now. But something inexplicable drove them on.

Blind, deaf, and in the process of succumbing to their wounds, the brothers weren’t witness to the way Jack quite literally recollected himself from scattered portions of energy and touched his fingertips to Chuck’s temples. The brothers were suddenly healed, birds suddenly resumed their flight in the sky as if nothing had happened. And out of Jack and Chuck came a shockwave that didn’t exactly disturb anything, but resonated through them, down to their souls.

Chuck seemed to be at even more of a loss than the brothers. They came closer as Jack backed away towards them, leaving God- or whatever Chuck was now- to hit the stoney beach with his knees.

“Is it… done?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Jack looked at them with undisguised pride. “He’s as powerful as a normal human, now.”

Dean still seemed worried. “So you absorbed it? _All_ of it?”

“For a second. It was… amazing. I was a part of everything, all at once. But I… I dunno. I guess I didn’t really want all that power.”

“But the world still exists,” Dean pointed out. “So you must’ve done something with it, right?”

Jack nodded, as innocently proud as the first time he’d been allowed to drive. “I brought everything back to normal. In this world, at least. And then I released it.”

Sam’s eyebrows jumped. “You what?”

“Released the light and the darkness into the whole world.”

Dean laughed worriedly. “Don’t you think being that liberal with all that power is a little… too trusting of people not to exploit it?”

“They can’t,” Jack said simply. “Neither form has a conscience. Both are just… embedded, in everything. Everyone has some. It’s not a corruptible thing- it’s just _a_ thing. The universe. Destruction and creation… equal. Everywhere. Forever.”

“I guess that’s pretty clever,” Sam admitted. “And… Uh… Him?” He motioned with his head to a powerless Chuck, who stayed sitting on the ground, looking like a lost creature. Or garbage that no one wanted to pick up, from the looks the trio gave him. “Should we- uh, do something?”

“Yes!” Chuck shouted, louder and faster than was necessary. “All your lives,” he gave a chuckle, “I’ve been toying with you, leading you right where I needed you to go, using my own ‘mysterious ways’ to hurt your friends. Your family. To test your characters. And now…” He continued to look so pleased with himself. “You guys are making the final decision. The Winchester brothers, given one last chance to achieve justice. For all worlds, all universes.”

Jack stood by to watch Sam. Sam watched Dean. And Dean watched Chuck close his eyes, having made peace with his end. He knew that by leaving Chuck alive, he’d be denying him that peace- and, technically, taking revenge. But killing him wasn’t justice either. It would be the kind of revenge that led to dark places… The kind of revenge he had always warned people about during their earlier cases. Cas’ most recent words came back to mind, and he stepped around Chuck, leaving him to sit on the beach in that stupid suit, if that’s what the guy wanted to do. “We’re not going to kill you. That’s not who we are. And it won’t change the fact that after everything- all the shit you’ve pulled for trillions and trillions of years- you lost. You finally lost.”

The trio walked back to the Impala without another word. Behind them Chuck shouted for them to reconsider, but he was too much of a coward to follow after them. Nothing surprising there.

They reached a town in just under half an hour. Children were screaming happily, cashiers were packaging gifts, and there was every number of human activity in between.

“So,” Dean said, to break the silence. “Who exactly did you bring back?”

Jack pursed his lips. “Everyone that Chuck killed or teleported back into other worlds. Eileen, Adam, the other hunters that were around when the Rapture started… Michael, Gabriel…” Sam’s brows _really_ shot up there. They’d have to ask about that one later. “And Cas.”

Dean glanced through the rearview mirror. “Cas? Do you know where he is?”

Sam was already pulling out his phone. “We can try calling him-”

“Gimme that.” Dean tore the phone from Sam’s hand and hit dial, even as Jack was reminded of something.

“Oh! And I thought Bob Ross deserved to come back, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed. I love Supernatural, and I liked this episode, but I felt like they came so close and didn't quite get it right. I know my prose is worth crap, but I thought it was worthwhile to modify a couple things:
> 
> -Dean actually grieves over Cas
> 
> -The world needed more time to feel empty
> 
> -I replaced the dog with a cat, because we were "one species short", and I could make that scene actually mean something. Again, this part of the episode felt rushed through, so I gave it more oomph
> 
> -Lucifer preying on Dean's lov- *cough* brotherly love for Cas, let's say, was exaggerated. I considered throwing it out, but it's a hefty comparison to the way Lucifer has preyed on other romantic partners like Jess and Nick's wife, so I decided to slide it back in there with some foreshadowing to properly explain why he wouldn't have thought twice about it
> 
> -Michael wasn't a bad guy... it didn't feel true to his character, it cheated the story, and it didn't need to happen plot-wise
> 
> -God doesn't tempt Dean by calling him a "ruthless killer", precisely because of what Cas said in 15x18: "That's not who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it." I feel like it was smarter to have God say what I wrote here- that is, about doing things for justice
> 
> -Jack releases the light and darkness as energies, forces without consciousness. Sorry Amara. I thought this was more fitting, because there would no longer be anyone to rule anything; it's up to us, as humans. Also, Jack continues to be Jack :)
> 
> -Cas is mentioned at the end... like, seriously, at least one person had to bring him up
> 
> ... And one last word about their battle with Chuck. It's really what urged me to write this out of nowhere; I felt like they missed the point. Their battle with Chuck wasn't just because one person had more power than the other. It was because demons, Lucifer, everyone had worked to change the brothers into something they're not- into doing something they never would have before. Chuck was no different. Their battle with Chuck was about never submitting... never killing each other, never killing Jack, never giving up- even when there's no hope left.
> 
> Which is why it seemed cheap that, after a hundred punches, the writers said "nah they were just stalling". No. They were fighting. Because that's what the brothers do.
> 
> o7


End file.
